


Together, Etc.

by hisboywriter



Category: Free!
Genre: Fluff, sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 17:17:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3217211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hisboywriter/pseuds/hisboywriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re twenty-six years old, and still share one pair of gloves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Together, Etc.

**Author's Note:**

> A one-shot to fulfill some post-series fluff needs.

 

They’re twenty-six years old, and still share one pair of gloves.

 

It’s not even a week since the last time they shared one, and it’s also at a Tokyo train station like the one they’re at now. Haru perpetually snubs the need for a scarf, so it’s no shock he categorizes gloves that much lower on the scale, even though he owns several pairs. Most having been given to him, by Makoto no less.

 

Makoto’s no better though. He should know by now to carry two pairs.

 

“Haru, I can see the blue on your fingertips.”

 

In this moment of contention, Haru’s frown is that much more prominent now that his face has matured. Not by much, but between the two of them, Haru still has the narrower build, with the stubbornness to compensate for it.

 

“Don’t exaggerate,” Haru says.

 

Makoto bypasses the comment altogether by peeling off his left glove, offering it.

 

Hardly a minute drags by before Haru accepts the glove, not without a sigh that broadcasts just how pointless he feels this is. In Makoto’s defense, the probability of Haru putting one glove trumps the probability of Haru putting on two gloves. It happens to increase in chance that much more when Makoto removes one from his own hand, like his sacrifice has to mean something.

 

It’s hardly a nuisance; it frees Makoto’s left and Haru’s right hand to bump, caress, and squeeze to supply their own heat.

 

There are people dotting the platform for the trains, but he and Haru have gotten pretty good at sneaking touches in public. It’s more for Makoto’s sake than Haru’s. Makoto’s grown into his adult stature, but hasn’t outgrown some anxieties. Haru accommodates them. Usually.

 

“I hope the market’s not too crowded right now,” Makoto says, lifting his hand without breaking contact with Haru’s to check the time. His shift starts in less than two hours.

 

He looks over at Haru, whose face is half lost in the scarf. Makoto smiles.

 

“I should be done with my shift by the time your training’s over,” he reminds Haru, relishing the new warmth in his fingers amidst the crisp chill of late December. “Do you think we can look over some Christmas Cake ideas for the kids to decorate tonight? Or maybe that’s too hard for them...”

 

Makoto is oblivious to how much Haru likes the smile he gets when he talks about the kids he coaches. In the same building Haru trains, Makoto teaches, and it was definitely a little of Haru’s doing to press the hiring woman to interview Makoto once he heard about the opportunity.

 

It’s a beautiful and large pool the children use, and Makoto doesn’t know the true number of times Haru has lurked, watching him bend down at a kid’s eye-level, make them laugh, assuage their fears until they had none left and had them turned back over to parents with wide smiles.

 

Today though, Makoto is trading his swimsuit for a fireman’s uniform.

 

Haru hums softly in acknowledgment when Makoto asks (again) if they should still try some Christmas Cakes.

 

“You know, they say they really want to see you swim again,” Makoto says, “I think you inspired them. Ah, that reminds me. I should properly thank your coach for allowing this semester’s class to come watch last week. When we stop at the market maybe I can pick something up…”

 

Makoto rambles on, speaking for two. It’s interrupted when Haru’s phone chimes. Habit has had Haru keep it on vibrate for the longest time. Since their move to Tokyo years back, Haru has (reluctantly) paid it more attention, lest he miss a notice from Makoto.

 

It’s a perk Makoto enjoys thoroughly.

 

Makoto stops talking as Haru pulls out his phone with his gloved hand. He blinks a few times at it.

 

“Your parents?” Makoto asks. This year’s winter escapades for the Nanases is in Paris, if he remembers correctly.

 

“Nagisa.”

 

Makoto’s eyebrows go up. That makes it four times that Nagisa’s messaged Haru today. That he knows of, anyway. Not that it brings bad tidings, but Nagisa has (with verbal opposition) adjusted to talking to Haru by messaging Makoto’s phone. Just because Haru minds his phone more often now, doesn’t mean he humors his friends with a constant plethora of messages.

 

Makoto is tempted to sneak a glance at Haru’s phone. “Oh, can they not make it tomorrow?”

 

“Not that,” Haru says, texting back something Makoto can’t see. He keeps his bare hand in Makoto’s. In that, Makoto takes comfort and he drags his fingertips to tickle Haru’s palm.

 

There isn’t a timestamp fixed on the ‘when and where’ for this, the hand holding, the kisses, the tangled legs in bed. Like Haru’s relationship to water, it just sort of has always been there, only now there is the guarantee of coming to their shared apartment and the brush of hands often ending with more.

 

Having lived a sexless life for more years than nott, Makoto flushes now thinking how much he enjoys it. By the sweet, not-so-quiet-as-you’d-think noises Haru has made, he likes it too.

 

“Your hand’s really hot,” Haru says.

 

“Oh, erm…”

 

Haru squeezes it, then tucks his phone away.

 

Makoto relaxes, and good thing his pink nose and cheeks can be blamed on the cold. “What did Nagisa say?”

 

“They’re all coming next week.”

 

“All of them?”

 

“Gou told them Rin will be in town. They’ll all visit.”

 

Makoto beams, then chuckles. “Sounds like we’ll be busy then. We’ll have to do some extra shopping.”

 

His train rolls by and Makoto carves them a path to a couple of seats in the corner. They ride the train with their thighs pressed against each other.

  


**-x-**

 

"We're together," Haru says.

 

Two words, and it’s the full extent of their relationship, a limitless ambiguity that suits both of them. Haru doesn’t see the need for a label, and Makoto doesn’t like getting flustered thinking about them.

 

Right now though, Makoto’s doing a fine job of feeling flustered, ruffled, and any variation of those words. It’s aggravated the longer the woman and her basket linger in front of them,. Makoto’s grip on his handles tightens, the pink suffusing his cheek radiating down his neck when Haru’s shoulder brushes his.

 

The woman has recently flirted with Makoto, who was browsing condiments until she bumped into him, apologized, and well, Makoto wasn’t new to people wanting to talk to him. Haru returned with bagged, fresh mackerel in time for the offender to be asking for Makoto’s email address.

 

“We’re together,” Haru repeats, not louder, but not quieter either.

 

“Haru,” Makoto grapples with a smile that doesn’t look uncomfortable. To the woman, he says, “S-Sorry, I’m, or rather...”

 

He’s not sure what he’s sorry for.

 

The woman still has her eyebrows furrowed, her gaze drifting between the two of them as though she struggles to find clarity in Haru’s curt comment.

 

When she finally forces out a strain smile, mumbles something, and abandons them to the aisle, Makoto exhales hard. He looks at Haru, who is tucking the mackerel into the basket. Makoto never knows what to say that won’t sound awkward, so he groans softly and studies the day’s purchases.

 

“We need to get rice,” Haru says, the bite to his tone, however subtle it was, gone.

 

“I think we should go apologize. She was nice...”

 

Haru reminds him he already did, and when Makoto tries to pursue the topic, Haru’s phone ends it for them once more. Haru fishing it out is enough to detract from the awkwardness and pique Makoto’s curiosity again.

 

“Who is it?” he asks.

 

“Nagisa.” Haru texts something back, then puts his phone away before ushering Makoto to the next aisle by his hand.

 

They run late after that, and have to part ways at the train. It isn’t until Haru gets home does he notice they forgot the condiments.

  
  
**-x-**

 

The day’s feeling a little off, and Makoto doesn’t know why. Maybe the scene with the woman threw his mojo off kilter, or maybe it has to do with the secret-ish messages from Nagisa. Whatever it is, it’s definitely a gut feeling, and he’s never honed his skill in dissecting what that means. It’s always been easier taking care of others, anyway.

 

So he’s relieved when he steps into the station. Here, there’s familiarity and no contempt having been bred from it. He’s already smiling as he starts wiggling out of his coat.

 

“Oh...Ah...Tachibana. Over here.”

 

Makoto’s fellow firefighters’ cheering his name in greeting when he arrives is commonplace, but today it comes delayed and sounds distracted. Today’s group is huddled at one of the tables where they usually play cards--Makoto’s found he’s not lucky at cards-- and chatter during the long periods of nothing happening.

 

The air is stultified, and Makoto can’t pinpoint what it is, but knows it’s roots are in whatever his teammates are discussing. The gut feeling intensifies.

 

“Hey, everyone,” he greets back, coming over after dumping his bag in a nearby locker. It’s his locker, with a picture of the Iwatobi Swim club plus Rin pinned on the inside. He may have deviated from a path of competitive swimming, but he found a new rush of adrenaline, a new comradery that reminds him of those times.

 

Whatever his teammates are discussing falls in the cracks of silence, some of them clearing their throat or feigning a cough. Aki, the only woman in their group, rolls her eyes.

 

“Something wrong?” Makoto asks, his skin prickling because now he knows he’s somehow the source of this icky, tense feeling between them, yet he has no clue what may have started it.

 

“Tachibana,” Daisuke says, the oldest among them, married, and the only one with a child. Despite that, he’s hardly the most mature of them all. “We’ve been talking, and now we have a bet going.”

 

Makoto tilts his head. “Oh? Ah...What kind of bet?” He hopes, futilely, that it’s about cards or who can do a handstand the longest, which Aki would win.

 

“About you.”

 

The butterflies in Makoto’s stomach die and their corpses are replaced with a nest of worms. He’s glad he hasn’t eaten recently. He makes a face, tense, quiet as he searches the faces of his teammates, and hating how they’re all fixed on him.

 

“Your friend, the one who brings us food sometimes…”

 

“Haru?” Makoto’s delight still springs up when he says the name.

 

“Yeah, you said you guys live together, right?”

 

More like one of his coworkers happened to see him going into the same complex as Haru one day and happily spread the gossip at the station, but yes. “Y-Yeah,” Makoto says, because he wasn’t able to lie then and certainly can’t start now. He’d always been awful at the practice.

 

“You’ve been living together a while.”

 

It’s not a question.

 

Makoto loiters outside what’s usually the comfort of their communal circle. He’s starting to think it might be a good idea to wake up from this dream.

 

He doesn’t wake up, and most of them are looking at him expectantly, curiously, hungry almost.

 

Instead of curling into himself, Makoto keeps his back straight and clears his throat. When he answers, he scratches his nose and can’t help averting his gaze for a moment.

 

“We’re together.”

 

The silence is deafening. It’s soon overwhelmed by Makoto’s heart thumping. Questions, expectations, fears, they all mash in his head and wipe away the realness of the present.

 

“Together,” Daisuke repeats, the word sounding incomplete.

 

Makoto meets his eyes with sheer effort. It’s not like talking to the kids he teaches at all.

 

“Yes,” he says.

 

When he doesn’t elaborate, the questions pour over him like a rush of cold water.

 

“Together? You mean like, together together?”

 

“So you’re into guys?”

 

“Like you’re gonna get married together?”

 

“Or like just really close together? I knew a guy who-”

 

Makoto tenses, hands up in defense, mouth opening but nothing coming out to answer all the bombardment, most of which he doesn’t even have an answer to.

 

When it feels like he’s going to suffocate under the questions, Aki’s voice, amongst the uproar,  cuts in smooth and hard. It shuts them all up: “You boys are stupid.”

 

Makoto quickly looks at her in time to see her shrug and wave them all off.

 

Daisuke frowns. “How are we stupid?”

 

“You’re stupid for even asking that. ” Aki smiles at Makoto and scoots over, creating a niche for Makoto to sit. After a pause, he does. Then, she adds, “What’s more to know? Nanase-san lives with him and has spoiled us all by bringing meals at least once a week. Or are you not all content with being stuffed full and like to risk it all?”

 

The others stew in the silence, mulling, contemplating, and everything else with her words.

 

“Stupid,” she finishes, propping her chin on her hand, looking at Makoto.

 

His heart swells and he can’t help smile back at her.

 

“I do like that fish stuff he makes,” Kenji says, the youngest among them, breaking into a smile of his own. “With that dash of, what is it? Whatever that sauce is,” he sighs and almost purrs.

 

“Does he cook at home?” Daisuke asks, leaning forward.

 

Makoto breathes a little easier when no one is giving him the hairy eyeball. “He cooks everyday.”

 

There’s a collective moan of envy.

 

“I wish my boyfriend knew his way around a stove,” Aki says, “just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I have to do all the cooking. I signed him up for cooking courses.”

 

“At least you can cook. My wife, bless her heart, tries, but...I mean, it’s not that hard to mess up rice, right?”

 

“Maybe Nanase-san can teach us all a thing or two. I don’t trust any future wife of mine to make my meals.”

 

“You also watch too many crime shows.”

 

Just like that, the teasing and laughter that left Makoto feeling like he could see himself doing this a long time is back. They’re breaking out into laughter and no one’s looking at Makoto any different.

 

Just before the earthquake hits and they rush out, Haru texts him, and the day’s balance feels restored.

 

**-x-**

 

“Haru, I’m fine, really. It’s not like I can’t walk or anything.”

 

Makoto’s voice is a broken record now, one that Haru has stopped narrowing his eyes at and altogether ignoring as he props up Makoto’s pillow and adjusts the tray over his lap. There’s more food than typical for tonight’s dinner.

 

“I made you food easier to grab,” Haru says, settling on the edge of the bed. He’s not going anywhere for a while.

 

It’s three days since the earthquake hit, and one day before Christmas. As they have done the last few years, at Makoto’s request more than anything, lights frame the bookcase in their bedroom, the same kind of multi-colored lights that wrap around the small tree perched on a counter in their living area.

 

Ever since Ren and Ran visited years back and stuck their tongues out at the lack of Christmas decor (they promote the western tradition of dazzling homes and streets with lights), Makoto’s made a point to indulge their taste this time of year.

 

“Thank you,” Makoto says, using his left hand to dig in, feeling dwarfed by Haru’s stare. “Delicious. I think we should make something like this when we visit my family for the New Year. Ren and Ran would love it.”

 

Haru’s still staring at his casted forearm. Really, it was a hairline fracture at worst and it hardly derailed Makoto’s mobility, though he’d have to bag it when he went in the pool. The few bruises blotting his right side and shoulder will be gone by then too.

 

Makoto stops eating because Haru is ogling him like that’s not the case.

 

“Haru…”

 

Haru meets his gaze and there’s a flicker of something. Haru fists his hands in his lap and presses his lips harder together.

 

“I know,” Haru says, like it’s taking all he’s got to not rely on an impulse to say something else. “I know.”

 

Makoto doesn’t ask him what he means, because he understands. He reached out with the casted hand and touches Haru’s jaw, tugging his neck so they can embrace over the unnecessary but very much appreciated dinner-in-bed tray.

 

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Makoto says against his hair, saying nothing else when Haru seizes him in the embrace he’s been wanting to since he got the call, got to the hospital to see Makoto dirty and bruises but smiling like an idiot.

 

When the doctor asked who he was, Makoto supplied her with, “We’re together.”

 

And together, they got Makoto home  and together managed to work around Makoto’s slight injuries to undress him, shower him, and maneuver him in bed so that Haru could still sink into his arms and bury his face in Makoto’s neck, saying nothing.

 

“Let me take care of you,” Haru says, averting his gaze.

 

Makoto studies him and reading into the things unsaid. Then, he breathes deeply and opens his mouth.

 

Makoto is sure Haru’s lip twitches as he feeds him.

 

**-x-**

 

“Haru, where are we going? It’s cold and I can’t see.”

 

Makoto buries into his scarf, huddling up against Haru, both to share warmth and because he’s been stripped of his eyesight temporarily.

 

It’s Christmas day and he’s been blindfolded since they got off the train, clinging to Haru, and wearing one glove again.

 

“We’re almost there,” Haru says, and his hand finds one of Makoto’s to squeeze before palming it over the cast arm, stroking it.

 

“I thought we were going to have dinner together indoors,” Makoto trails off, knows he is pouting, but his fractured arm is starting to pulse on and off, disliking the cold as much as the rest of him.

 

Finally, there’s a rush of warmth and Makoto hears the patter of their footsteps soften as they tread over something smoother. They’re inside somewhere. He thinks he picks up the wifts of sweets and the susurrus of fabric.

 

Haru finally stops and makes him straighten.

 

“Okay,” Haru says, his fingers gentle along Makoto’s head as they loosen the blindfold.

 

Without further preamble, light floods Makoto’s vision again, and there’s a chorus of familiar voices swelling around him.

 

“Merry Christmas!”

 

Makoto blinks rapidly and the room greets him with the faces and smiles of so many, all at once. His brain processes it all in segments: the swarm of his students coming at him, dolled up for the cold and tugging him down to hug him and admire the cool, green color of his cast. In the distance he sees their parents content with observing by a table that’s overwhelmed with Christmas Cakes and greens and reds, golds and whites that repeat throughout the space of the indoor swimming pool room.

 

The pool’s covered with a tarp, but it hardly detracts from the lights that have been affixed to the rails, the table, anywhere that was within reach.

 

Then, as he’s manages to welcome the affection, questions, and comments of his students, he spots Rin, smirking his way.

 

“Didn’t know you adopted so many kids already.” Rin nudges him with his foot, his smile sharp as ever. Humble confidence exudes from him, just like the day he earned the gold medal. He and Haru both have looked splendid with gold dangling from their necks.

 

“Rin,” Makoto squeezes his shoulder, feel the strength still anchored there, “How...But you weren’t supposed to...I thought next week-Ah, that’s-!”

 

Gou’s radiating beside her brother, winking at him before extending on her toes to peck his cheek. She’s faintly taller and her hair’s curled at the ends.

 

“Supposed to what?” she asks, gaze drifting down to the hoard of children and the delightful chaos they bring everywhere they go. “We come over when we want to come over.”

 

Makoto is unable to make sense of that, especially when two more bodies are engulfing him in fierce embraces. One of which catapults directly onto his back.

 

“Mako-chan!”

 

“Nagisa!” Rei’s voice is somehow deeper, and he’s easily clipped Makoto’s height by a fraction. “He’s still recovering!”

 

Nagisa whines, but he dislodges and navigates around to face Makoto. He’s grown into his grin, and his hair sports a streak of purple in it. His job in styling hair practically obligates him to test out fads and products on his own head, with great zeal, no less.

 

“We were worried, Mako-chan! To hear your beautiful, strong arm got hurt,” he props up said arm and look satisfied. “We’ll all have to write on it!”

 

The kids, upon hearing the declaration, cheer and scurry off for the supplied pens.

 

“I don’t…” Makoto blinks again, allowing Nagisa to prod and examine (and thus be scolded by Rei) to his heart’s content. “You’re all here…”

 

“Big Brother!”

 

Makoto turns around on command.

 

They’re not little anymore, but Ren and Ran dive into him with a force that almost knocks him over. They’re pawing at him, chastising him for being hurt, and then praising his bravery, though really being crushed by an office desk hardly counts as confronting great peril.

 

“Sorry we’re late.” It’s his mom, sighing and waving her pink-tinged face. “We had to run over. These two couldn’t decide on what to wear, so we missed the train.”

 

“That’s not true! Ran hid my coat from me!”

 

“I did not!”

 

Makoto can’t not laugh at it all, can’t fight the burn in his eyes because his family is embracing him and, naturally, fussing over him. He lets them, answering their questions, before realizing he still has one major one of his own.

 

He scans everything, and finally locates Haru off to the side, having made room for everyone to approach Makoto.

 

“Haru?”

 

Nagisa elbows his un-bruised side and wiggles his eyebrows before seizing the room’s attention. He manages to usher everyone over to the table in preparation for cake and utilizes the children to drag everyone over, allowing Makoto a breather.

 

Haru approaches him, then shrugs a shoulder when Makoto can only stare at him.

 

“Nagisa told me Christmas is a day for love. He said your birthday wasn’t very exciting, so,” Haru trails off, leaves the rest for Makoto to make sense of. “He said a big party with a lot of lights and music, but,” another shrug, like this has not taken effort to orchestrate, “if it’s a day of love, then I wanted to give it to you with all those you love…and love you back.”

 

Makoto can’t say anything. There’s a lot to say, so much that he feels like he’s choking back something. Instead, he lets out a shaky laugh and rests his forehead on Haru’s for a heartbeat, bare hand coming to touch Haru’s exposed one.

 

“All of this? You didn’t-”

 

“I don’t have to do anything.”

 

Makoto leans back to meet Haru’s beautiful eyes, those same eyes that cast glances Makoto’s way when he isn’t looking.

 

“Merry Christmas, Haru.”

 

Haru’s lips turn up. “Merry Christmas, Makoto.”

 

**-x-**

 

 


End file.
